


Employee Relations

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Not The First Time They’ve Been Raped By The Aggressor, Submission to rape as part of duty/job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 20:37:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19708975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Martin's new job comes with certain expectations. By now, Martin knows the signs.





	Employee Relations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowersforgraves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/gifts).



Martin knows the signs. 

A note written on crisp stationary sits atop a neatly folded stack of clothes on his desk. The note he sets aside, before picking up the clothes and heading to the toilet. He could change in the office; it’s not like anyone will come in. Well, not anyone except— 

His hands tighten around the clothes, and he takes a steadying breath before continuing to the toilets. Blessedly empty when he enters, heading into a stall and locking the door behind him, the focus required to change in the awkward space enough to deaden his racing thoughts for the briefest moment. Until he finishes, leaving the door swinging behind him, too distracted to notice he’s not alone until he slams into another body. 

A hand reaches out to steady him while he scrambles to hold onto the rumpled bundle of his own clothes, and when he looks up he knows who it is. But then he’s always been good at knowing names and faces, even those of almost strangers. Kevin from Artefact Storage had never been a friend, but always friendly. He smiles now, even now that people increasingly whisper when they do see Martin, and avoid him when they can. 

“Date night?” he says with a smile, one that fades when Martin answers the question with silence. 

It’s a reasonable thing to ask, too fitted jeans which, well, they show off his arse magnificently, and a V-neck jumper that exposes more than he’d like. But it’s reasonable, it is, so he stumbles towards something like a normal response, the urge to confess outweighed by the consequences of doing so. Not just for him, but for everyone, for people who don’t even know the true extent of the danger they’re in. People like Kevin. 

“Yeah, I mean—” Martin laughs, and hopes he sounds the right sort of nervous. “Yeah, something like that.” 

Kevin clasps his shoulder briefly, and then Martin is caught. No more chance to confess, only than the chains he agreed to, pulling him deeper each time. With a shaking hand he draws the note from his pocket, noting the address and time, before scurrying towards the tube. 

The doors slam shut on any illusions he might've had about just going home, back to his lonely little flat. Instead he travels to an entirely different part of London, far beyond his ability to ever afford. It isn’t the same place as last time, or the time before. But he guesses that’s the sort of thing that comes with a lot of money. Even knowing it only delays the inevitable, he dithers on the steps leading inside, staring up at the empty windows, and dreading what they hold.

Finally, he manages the climb, heavy silence muffling his steps, weighing him down, each day heavier than the last. Maybe that’s the true point of it, rather than the excuses that he hears. Everyone enjoys a little physical companionship. And Martin shivers at the memory of it, warm hands sliding up his arms, cupping the back of his neck, kissing him so tenderly he can almost pretend for a moment that he does want it. Only for the reality to come crashing back, as the hands pull at his jumper, and ignore his too weak pleas to stop. 

It overwhelms him, and he leans against the wall outside the plain white door, struggling for air. Trying to keep himself above the surface just for that much longer, knowing it’s a fight he can’t win. That he’s a sacrifice, casting himself adrift, and that his payment might spare others worse pain. It feels like it should be a comfort. 

It isn’t.

But it’s far too late to go back, was too late weeks ago, so he turns the handle, unlocked as always, and makes his way inside. Directly to the bedroom, to the blinding white bed in the featureless room. Sitting on it, he removes his shoes and socks, but nothing else. Apparently, taking off the wrapping ruins the present. He swallows against the sickness, and settles in to wait.

This time, Martin’s lucky. He doesn’t have to wait long. Not waiting long means less time to think, means it’ll be over sooner, his duty fulfilled, leaving him free to run home and finally be truly alone. The heavy thud of footfalls is exaggerated, has to be intentional, a way to let him know what is coming. There’s a swing of the door, and a figure Martin barely bothers to glance at anymore. Every time, he’s easier to see.

“Ah, you got here early!” Peter says, his perpetual cheer digging its way into Martin’s mind, making him wonder if he’s wrong, too harsh, because Peter is bad but that doesn’t mean—

He cuts the thought off viciously, and stands, giving Peter a bland smile. Still nervous, but Peter seems to like that, and that’s good, isn’t it? Good that Peter likes him, likes what he’s doing. It’s easier, then. It has to be easier. 

“Work wasn’t too bad today? I’m afraid I was only able to pop in for a bit, you know how it is.” His hands slide under Martin’s jumper, rough fingers pulling the soft cotton from his skin. “Family obligations, and all. But I’ll be in tomorrow.” 

He pecks Martin on the lips, then pulls the jumper over his head. And Martin still isn’t sure which is worse. Whether it’s better to remove the lie, exposing what this is, or clothe it in the appearance of affection. Gifts worn that he can’t afford, assignations on heavenly soft sheets. But he doesn’t have time to consider it further, not when Peter’s started in on his belt, tossing it aside to fumble eager for the zipper, not bothering with the button as he wiggles two fingers inside. 

“You did it this time, then,” he says with delight, fingers brushing against Martin’s soft, bare cock. “Brilliant. Quite scandalous, isn’t it? But thrilling.”

The angle is awkward, and the touch shouldn’t be enough, but it’s not like Martin’s been getting much of anything. So his cock stirs, even as his teeth clench, and he tries not to think about whether that’s why he agreed. As if he had any choice at all. 

Peter grows tired of teasing, just as he always does. The jeans are stripped away, and Martin is pushed onto the bed on his back, Peter caging him between his legs. The first time, it’d been abrupt, face down against his desk. The second time in a posh flat, but still facing away. The third time, the fourth, well, they started to blur, didn’t they? Martin wants them to blur. What happened doesn’t matter, what matters is that this time Peter doesn’t turn him over, doesn’t let him turn over, hand on his shoulder keeping Martin in place while Peter reaches for the lube. Another thing he insists on doing, even though Martin offered to prepare ahead of time. _I enjoy the process_ , he said, while Martin shuddered beneath him. 

“It fulfills an animal desire,” Peter says idly, as he slides two fingers into Martin, spreading the lube around. “One we can never quite be rid of, too deeply ingrained in our bodies, no matter what power we serve.” He twists his fingers, and Martin whimpers, hating the way his cock jumps when Peter pushes against his prostate, continuing to rub as he continues to speak. “Now some, like your former employer, well they largely try to deny it, ignore it. Though I bet Elias is cheating.” He grins, pressing harder, and Martin lets out an involuntary moan. “If wonder if he’s watching now? If so, best we put on a good show.”

He withdraws, and Martin is grateful even as Peter rearranges him, picking up his legs, adjusting the angle. Knowing it’s not over, but once Peter comes, he’ll lose interest, fading away and happy to let Martin fade in his own way, to struggle back into the clothes Peter had provided, before fleeing into the deserted streets, and accepting what solace they provided. The dream of what comes after is a balm of sorts, but the vision is shattered as Peter enters him. Never slow, and always huge, burying himself to the hilt as Martin pants and digs his fingers into the sheets. 

As Peter begins to thrust in earnest, Martin turns his head towards the window. It’s a beautiful night, moon hanging fat and low in the sky. He shouldn’t be able to see it from here, but the thought doesn’t bother him now. After all, what’s one spooky view among all the rest? He can even pick out individual stars, and he distracts himself with counting them, arousal growing distant as Peter increases pace, his hands gripping Martin’s arms with bruising force. 

It’s the hands that bring him slamming back into the moment, now on his shoulders, bringing him close, until Peter’s lips are on his again. Biting until he opens, letting Peter lick his way inside, mouth tasting of nothing, lips with only the faintest trace of the sea. All while Peter moves him towards the headboard never pulling out even as he braces Martin against it. Then pulling back to tip up his chin. 

“I want to feel you come around me. Can you do that?” 

Even as he asks the question, he wraps one hand around Martin’s cock, which had softened while he’d drifted. The small gasp prompts a laugh from Peter, the rapid hardening a pleased hum, and he begins to thrust again, but more slowly now, his attention turned entirely on Martin. He lets his head fall back, assuming Peter doesn’t require a response, only to be brutally corrected when Peter grips his hair with his free hand, giving his head a shake. 

“I asked you a question, Martin. It’s only polite to answer.” His tone still hasn’t changed, and it’s so much worse than if he had. Maybe that’s why he does it. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. 

“Y—yes,” he gasps, as Peter’s fingers play along his cock. “I can. I will, Peter—”

“Shh,” Peter says, nuzzling at his neck, dragging his hand along Martin’s cock in just the wrong way. “Let me take care of you.”

All Martin can do is nod frantically as Peter tugs at his cock, thrusting all but stopped while he waits for Martin. And that means Martin absolutely has to come, or this will never end, and he needs that, more than he needs anything. So he closes his eyes, and tries to pretend Peter is just some random hookup, the sort he once thought might be nice. A handsome man, showing him a good time. It doesn’t really work, but Peter’s hand alone is enough, the strokes just the right pressure to drag the orgasm from him, alongside a bitter moan.

“You look gorgeous like that,” Peter says, mouth still against Martin’s neck as Martin squeezes around him, quivering in the aftermath, jumping when Peter’s teeth bite into his neck, hard enough he knows it’ll leave a mark. And then he begins moving again, faster than before, teeth still in place while all Martin can do is hold on. 

His teeth never leave, worrying spots high and low as Martin drowns in the sensation, breath harsh and high as Peter’s cock scrapes oversensitive flesh, as he claims Martin in body, if not yet in soul. When he finally comes, he does so with a sigh, sucking an already bitten spot on Martin’s throat. It’s a sound Martin can only answer with quiet, bitten off gasps. But at this point Peter doesn’t expect much else.

The end is as quick as Martin had hoped, Peter sliding free, cleaning himself up, dressing, all while Martin lies drained and exhausted on the bed. The first time, he wondered if it was some sort of power Peter had, but when he suggested it Peter only laughed. _Only the power of a good long fuck,_ he replied, with a slap on Martin’s arse. Martin hadn’t bothered to ask again. 

Before he leaves, he goes back over to Martin, kissing him goodbye just like he always does. 

“Don’t be late for work,” he says, when he finally draws back. “Now wouldn’t that be awkward to explain?” 

And then he’s gone, as absent as he had so recently been horribly, solidly present. Martin is alone again, and alone he dresses, and rides the tube home, and crawls into bed, and tries not to cry.

He gives up on the last, of course. There really isn’t any way to stop it anymore.


End file.
